


Condition Of Desperation

by TheHatterTheory



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Dreams, Dreamscapes, F/M, POV Male Character, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHatterTheory/pseuds/TheHatterTheory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale of two brothers, a miko, and dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Condition Of Desperation**

**By: The Hatter Theory**

**Chapter One**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Inu Yasha, now the rights to the fairy tale this is (very loosely) based off of.

 ~*~

Snow fell to the ground, swirling around him as he stood in front of the tree. Gold eyes filled with frustrated, angry tears as he walked forward again, knowing what would happen but refusing to accept simple logic.

As it had every other time, the barrier repelled him, pushing him back so violently, with such angry force that his blood sang with the shock and his back cracked against a tree that had been his unwilling cushion more than once. Already back had given way and branches had broken. This time he felt the sharp end of a broken limb stabbing into his shoulder. The copper tang of his own blood filled his mouth, and he could smell it, felt it dripping down from his nostrils and filling up his mouth.

Something crunched behind him, once, twice, and again and again, then stopped. He ignored it, knowing exactly who it was. Pushing himself up from his spot on the ground, he began running forward, determined to breach the barrier.

Once again he felt the lightning of the barrier take hold of him for a mere second, just long enough to boom through his blood before rejecting him and sending him hurtling back.

Dazed, he looked up into solemn purple eyes. There was regret there, and hints of fear. Despair.

It wasn't time for that, there wasn't reason for any of them to be afraid. He'd never given up before, and he sure as hell wasn't going to now.

“Inu Yasha, the barrier won't let you in. At least come to the village and let Kaede tend to your injuries and feed you. We can plan while there.”

He had been trying to break through the barrier for two days. Giving in to the sure knowledge that if he couldn't get through it, no one else could, he ignored the outstretched hand and stood, weaving slightly as the remnants of a monk's ki pulsed through him. Frustrated and weary, he allowed himself to be led back to the village, hand wiping away the blood that poured over his lips and down his chin.

Kagome, silent, oblivious, continued her slumber.

~*~

He smoothed a finger over a subtle, raised line, not for the first time. There was a mild surprise that he hadn't worn it down, eroded either it or it's match with his persistent fascination. But they persisted, the pearlescent lines staying etched on the skin. Two lines that touched, reminding him.

There were no other scars on his body, nothing to hint at the myriad battles he had fought, the wars he had engaged in. Even the loss of his arm had not left such a mark, his skin healing smoothly over the wound despite his abuses and with it's regeneration, leaving no mark of it's mutilation. The two small lines were subtle, but distinctive. Unique in their simple existence.

It was not just their presence that often stirred his attentions, but the strange feeling of them. Not a physical feeling, he had memorized the surface of both, mapped their every irregularity with his fingertips. No, it was a different feeling, something off, almost as if they retained the energy of the woman who had given them to him. Though he knew only that he was normally immune to the magics of human priests and miko, he did know that such energies dissipated over time. It had been four years since he had caught her arrow and been branded by the subtle magic within it. In that time he had felt something, though what it was he couldn't name.

In the past week he had felt it more strongly, had felt that strangeness pulling at him insistently. Logic told him that there was something amiss if such a change had occurred, and that he should seek the woman out and demand to know what her powers had done to him. Pride however, held him back. It was shameful enough that he had been marked in such a manner, but humbling himself to demand answers of her, his half brother's mate, that was unthinkable.

In spite of his instincts, in the name of his pride, he stayed away. It did not stop him from rubbing the marks from time to time, as if worrying an ache that had begun to spread.

 ~*~

**  
**

**A/N:** Yes, it's a Sleeping Beauty story. Normally I have no time for Sleeping Beauty, but when I saw the challenge my muse took up residence next to my ear and began shouting.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Condition Of Desperation**

**By: The Hatter Theory**

**Chapter Two**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the rights to Inu Yasha nor to the rights that this fairy tale is (very loosely) based off of.

 __________________________________________

Winter passed, melting into spring. He watched her, golden eyes fastened on her still, sleeping form as snow built up around her and then melted. Her clothes faded and frayed, her hair grew unkempt. Nails grew long, dirt accumulated on her skin, and there was nothing he could do to help. Even the most base functions of her body continued, and they could do nothing to save her as her body slowly began to grow thinner and thinner. The barrier repelled not only him, but the others. Even on the night of the new moon he was allowed no closer.

One month passed, and then another. Spring was heating into the first overtures of summer, and her clothing was ragged, distressed by the elements, and she looked like a wild child, plucked from the forest and pinned beneath the arrow in her chest.

Frustration gave way to anger, anger gave way to denial. He had spent the first two months of her imprisonment (and it was nothing less than that) trying to free her. Not only had he almost killed himself on more than one occasion, he had broken the seal on his blood once, and been found trying to claw his way through the barrier.

That day his denial and rage had given way to melancholy. Now he only watched. Sango and Miroku's children grew, Shippou came and went, too hurt by the sight of his mother in such a state to stay. From time to time the others would visit, would talk to him and try to keep him company. Little by little however, real life intruded until they barely came at all.

On rare occasions, the wind would blow and he imagined her voice speaking to him. In those moments, he wondered if he was losing his mind.

His own slumber had been filled with nightmares. Nightmares of Kikyo, of his life, and especially of those final few moments before his body had been forced into unnatural slumber. Fifty years of that, and he could still remember the routes his own mind had taken.

What did she dream? Did she replay the minutes before her 'death' over and over, as he had? Or was she having peaceful dreams? At times her scent became distressed, and he felt the pain she felt. But there were other times, times of complete blankness, where she had barely any scent at all.

Those times frightened him.

 __________________________________________

Sleep was a personal pleasure he engaged in, one that he kept very private. Youkai of his caliber did not often need sleep, perhaps once or twice a month, but he slept perhaps once a week, sometimes twice. Sleep provided a haven from a world he, at the very least, disliked. Dreams were precious things to him, machinations of his own subconscious to puzzle over and untangle.

But recently he had not slept. He had pushed his body beyond it's normal limits and tried to stay awake.

Dreams had only brought the same disturbing image to mind for the past two seasons. At first it had been a strange annoyance, one he had not considered overmuch, until it had happened for a third time. Since then he had pushed himself until sleep brought little dark oblivion. If he did dream, he did not remember.

But he was exhausted, had not slept for almost two months. His body demanded rest, and he could do little to disobey. Laying himself down on his futon, he ignored the blankets, the first of summer's heat making anything covering him stifling. Grateful for the softness of his futon, he let his head sink into the pillow and closed his eyes.

Panic set in the moment he realized where he was. It was a familiar place, both in dreams and in waking life. The forest named for his half brother.

Snow fell in heavy flurries around him, though he walked above it in the strange logic of dreams.

Any second now.

As if summoned, the woman came, his half brother's mate. She looked sad, resigned, as a small smile played at the corner of her lips. Every part of her looked soft, almost accepting, not as if tears would come.

But they did. Sparkling like small diamonds as they feel from her eyes, he watched her caress the trunk of the tree, as if nostalgic.

“This world is your own, it's what you make of it,” She sighed softly, sadly. He watched her, knowing what was coming next.

Her reverie was shattered by the sound of stomping feet. He watched as monks, monks only too familiar to him, began circling the small clearing. Reiki glowed at their hands, at their feet as they ran, it burned the air with the taste of lightning as they moved quickly.

She stood, frightened but tall, hand going for a bow that wasn't there.

“Who are you?” She demanded.

An old monk came forward, mouth twisted in a frown.

“We were willing to let a miko travel with youkai, but there can be no union between the two.”

“What are you talking about?” She shouted, face flushing hotly.

He watched the monk pull and arrow from a quiver held by a younger monk, watched him accept a bow from yet another. So much pomp and circumstance.

“What are you-”

As always, the arrow flew. Time slowed, and he saw her eyes widen in fear. The sound of her heartbeat throbbing echoed in the clearing.

He had watched the scene many times, and every time the scene ended as the arrow pierced her chest. He would wake, hand throbbing painfully and a dull ache in his chest.

Just a dream. Just a dream.

But the panic that lanced through him as he watched it again was real. Dumb desperation made him act, sent him between both the miko and the monk.

He caught the arrow in his fist, felt it turn to ash, as if it were real.

The monks faded into nothingness.

“Sesshoumaru?” A voice whispered in bewilderment. He turned to her, still not entirely sure what had happened, why he was having such a strange dream. And for the first time, he hadn't woken up in a cold sweat, heart hammering in his chest.

“Miko.”

“You-you saved me,” She stuttered, still looking as if she didn't quite know what to make of the situation. “Thank you.”

What was his dream telling him, what sort of puzzle was his subconscious giving him to muddle through? None of it made sense. He had saved the miko once, years ago, and had considered it a necessary annoyance. Other than the damnable scars on his fingers, he had rarely thought of her at all.

“You're welcome,” He said at last, playing into the dream. After all, perhaps the miko was merely something his own mind was using to tell him something. Why be rude or stand on ceremony if he was speaking merely to himself?

“Have you come to see Rin?” The woman finally asked, straightening her shoulders and beginning to relax.

“I am merely passing through,” He answered honestly. Normally his dreams were far more metaphorical, and those that were not never took place near the village.

“Ah, well, I'll let you be on your way,” She sighed, nodding once and smiling up at him. “Thank you again.”

She was leaving?

Curiosity piqued by the strange turn his own imagination had taken, he watched her go, and then decided to follow.

She said little, but looked over her shoulder from time to time.

“Why were you crying?” He finally asked, curious as to what his own mind would tell him. Tears were not a common occurrence in his dreams, and they puzzled him.

“No reason,” She replied blithely, forcing a smile to her face as he caught up to her effortlessly.

Not what he had expected.

“Obviously there was a reason.”

“None of your business,” She said through gritted teeth. He could feel his brow arching in response. That was certainly unexpected.

“It isn't?” He finally asked.

“No. Unless you want me to tell you that your brother is an idiot.”

He knew that. Inu Yasha was a king of fools.

“Oh so?”

She spun on her heel abruptly, turning to look up at him. Her blue eyes were filling with tears, and he could taste the scent of them on the air. How strange. Dreams were not supposed to have scents, they never had before. And realizing he could smell her tears made him realize that he could smell her as well as the scent of the forest. How strange.

“What do you see when you look at me? Do you see a living, breathing woman, or someone that is a reincarnation of another human being?”

“I see the present,” He answered honestly. “Former incarnations hold little bearing on one's life.”

Her laugh was bitter.

“It's because of my former incarnation that I'm here, that we even know each other. I _met_ her,” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and looking at the ground. Tears salted the air even more heavily, and he knew they had begun spilling down her cheek.

“What does this have to do with the hanyou?”

“He still sees her. He can't love _me_. I'm nothing but a reminder of her.”

He, for lack of a better word, had no idea what was going on. Why was his mind giving him this fodder for thought?

“It is his foolishness,” He replied at last. “Living in the past is meaningless.”

“Like you can talk,” She huffed, finally looking up at him.

He stared at her blankly.

“You chased Inu Yasha for months for a sword, you hate him because of his heritage-”

“I do not hate the hanyou,” He growled, interrupting her. What foolishness.

“You treat him like dirt-”

“He is an ill mannered boor that, as you said, lives in the past, thinks little, and understands _nothing_ ,” He bit out. Why was his own mind defending the hanyou, someone he had barely even thought about?

The vision stepped back, face flushing hotly.

“He's a good person,” She finally said, conviction ringing true in her tone. She straightened her shoulders and spun on her heels again, this time taking long determined strides away from him.

Obviously he wasn't going to learn anything, and he be damned if he'd go chasing some strange, possibly repressed part of himself that felt the need to champion the hanyou. His curiosity did not extend that far.

Unfortunately, neither could he wake up, and he realized he was stuck in the dream. Determined to get some distance from that, whatever it was, he strode off in the opposite direction, noticing that the further he got, the darker things became, until there was nothing but blackness.

He woke, eyes still tired, as if he hadn't slept at all. The scent of the woman lingered in the air, as if she had actually been there.

  __________________________________________

 **A/N:** Patience is a virtue. I'm torturing our poor wee Kagome. Again. Also, hopefully this was coherent enough for you to understand what Sesshoumaru is thinking. Yes, No? Reviews are appreciated.


End file.
